“The guys wanted to know if we can, um, work on your being more animated.”
“Animated.”
“You know, more engaging, more into it.”
“I warned you going in, Darius, that I’m no actor.”
“Sure, that’s fine. But you think you can muster some enthusiasm? You know, act like you’re up about the shop’s renovation and what that can mean for your business. Be in it, so to speak.”
They held a long glance. She wanted to “be in it,” and she didn’t want to act like a snot. But this was tough. Having this man in front of her turned her insides into a carnival ride.
When he reached what she could not forget was a strong-yet-gentle hand across to her, she pulled away as if he were shooting lighter fluid. “Don’t,” she whispered.
“I’m sorry.”
“Stop. I told you there’s nothing to be sorry about.” She drew in a lungful of air and let it expel.
“There’s a lot riding on this episode, as you know. The success of your store and my job’s future.”
A swath of heat climbed up her face. Flashes of Darius’ dilemma darted through her mind, the way he looked at his little frail father curled up in a bed at the nursing home. And that painting in his apartment, the woman who resembled his mother, the pride in his eyes when he’d told the story. Her insides sunk. She needed to get over herself for both their sakes. “I’ll do better tomorrow.”
“If it helps at all, the guys say the camera loves you.”
She zeroed in on the way a smile played over his lips, a rueful turn of his mouth that tugged deep in her chest. He might be wishing things were different too, and that made it all the worse.
“I was worried that on camera I might look like a tank, you know, due to what I’ve come to call “the Oreo incident.”
Now he laughed and shook his head. “Not a chance.”
She managed to rivet her eyes away from him and turned on her heel. She marched out of the stockroom, determined to look forward and get through these next few days come hell or high water.
“By the way, Rylee…”
She turned back to him. “Yeah?”
“Just a heads-up. Tomorrow they’re spending most of the day shooting the two of us interacting.” His shiny eyes bore onto hers, assessing and black like ink. “It’s called the ‘One on One’ segment.”
“That’s not a problem.” As long as I can find a drive-through lobotomy center.
“Good.”
“Good.” Shoot me.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Somehow, Rylee didn’t know how, she managed to sit next to the pirate, to inhale the scent of his manliness, to feel his man heat, and go over paperwork while on camera. Because her brain was rice pudding, it helped that the major stuff of the details had already been established and this shuffle of paper was primarily for the show’s sake.
She was nervous during her phone call to the bridal house that would be shipping the sample order to her store for the fashion show. The house assured her that the sample gowns would arrive next Thursday, two full days before Saturday’s fashion show, which gave her time to learn the details of each dress so she could give a commentary as the models paraded them. The cram session would be a study in the difference between chiffon and georgette and whatever the hell shantung was. And necklines, God help her.
These brides-to-be were savvy. They knew what a semisweetheart neckline was as compared to a full-blown sweetheart. She wouldn’t be able to fool them. She needed to remember things like a bateau style was a boat neckline. And she’d have to let those terms roll off her tongue as if she were fluent in the vernacular. How she was going to speak in front of a roomful of soon-to-be brides and their entourages was beyond her. Darius and Wirth More had arranged for three models for the fashion show, and Kit would be assisted by Linda and Freda in organizing the dressing and undressing. They kept talking about it being all in the timing. She majorly sucked at timing, the testament being the man who started this whole mess.
They went over the flyers they planned to distribute to the other stores in town. The show had bought radio time on the local station as well as a TV spot on their cable network. An online media blast had gone out and was getting lots of hits. God only knew how many people would show up for this shindig. Her knees were knocking already.
“We covered a lot of territory today, Rylee.” Darius grinned. “We’re going to be ready for Saturday’s fashion show.”
She didn’t like this smile he produced for the cameras. It wasn’t him. Somehow she knew that. “I hope so.”
And with that, the cameras were off and the taping session was done. The cameramen and the light guys went off to the far side of the room to load up their equipment, which left Darius and Rylee alone at the desk.
She blew out a breath. “How do you do this all the time?”
“You get used to it. It becomes like second nature.”
“Huh.”
“What’s that mean?”
“It’s nothing.”
“No, Rylee, what did you mean by that?”
“Your smile.” She pointed a hesitant finger at his mouth. “You have a different one for the camera.”
“Do I?” His mouth cut into a genuine curve. “Really?”
She nodded.
“No one’s ever said that to me before.” His head tilted in contemplation.
“Well, trust me. You do.” She turned to face him fully. “When the cameras are on, you do this.” She pulled what felt like a clownish grin.
Darius laughed out loud. “I do not.”
“Yes, you do.” She did the clown mouth again.
“Stop it.”
She couldn’t help the bubble of laughter that escaped her lips. “Kind of Ronald McDonaldish.”
“Okay, now you’re making it up.”
“I’m not kidding. And trust me. I know a little something about that mouth of yours.”
And like that, they froze. Darius turned his attention to the crew members who busily zipped equipment into carriers. He pulled his gaze back to Rylee.
Sorry, she mouthed.
“They didn’t hear anything,” he uttered, his voice low. “Don’t worry.” He touched her arm.
She looked down at his hand on her sleeve and was reminded of the night at his apartment. “I don’t think you should be touching me, Ronald McDonald.”
He smiled a real smile.
“See that.” She pointed at his mouth. “Now that’s a real one.”
“You make me smile.” He squeezed her arm, and even though it was on top of the fabric of her shirtsleeve, her skin began to tingle. “And I wish…”
“Don’t.” Her insides squeezed. “Please.”
He let his hand fall away, and the smile went with it.
****
When the day was done, Rylee turned down Kit’s invitation to join her and the girls for drinks and burgers at Jabberwocky’s. She just couldn’t face any questions about Darius now that she’d been fool enough to let Kit know the two of them had had sex. Just that word threatened to conjure the memory of his body entwined with hers, the intensity of it all.
Climbing up to her apartment, she fought against the images playing in her head. She wanted to put on her sweats and pour herself a glass of merlot and shut off her mind.
A while later after a gourmet dinner of peanut butter on a day-old bagel, she sat on the living room sofa, sinking into the overstuffed softness of the cushions. She sipped the pungent red wine she poured for herself and closed her eyes. But all she could see in her imagination was Darius. His swashbuckler’s smile, the face she’d come to decide was quite handsome, his masculine appeal palpable. She groaned aloud, and the sound echoed in the stillness of the space.
She put the glass down on the coffee table and zeroed in on Rosie’s photo album of thank-you notes and photos from happy brides. She flipped open the cover, a welcome distraction from her thoughts. She’d make a game out of guessing the details o
f the dresses.
A young bride with her groom, glamorous in their wedding-day finery, she in a sateen—was it sateen?—square-neck A-line, stared out from a photograph, grins wide. She remembered the bride, Shelby Britton. Shelby had been the bride with the weight problem, who cried when she saw herself in the mirror wearing the gown Rosie had helped her select. Somehow they’d chosen a gown that had turned a woman self-conscious of her size into a regal princess. Rylee took a sip of her merlot as she eyed Shelby’s beaming smile. It said confidence, happiness, love.
The accompanying note was gushy, and Rylee smiled despite the fact that she herself was not a gushy type.
She turned the page. Megan Harris. A dark-haired beauty with all the money to import herself a gown from any designer in Europe. But nope. She’d fallen in love with the little town of Sycamore River when she’d come to town for a college friend’s wedding. She’d met and eventually became engaged to a local guy and decided on a quaint wedding at the Episcopalian chapel on the green. The photo of Megan in a liquid satin sheath and her groom was a stunner, and Rylee’s heart hurt seeing their obvious love and knowing the young bride’s husband had been killed in a car wreck last year. She touched her finger to the photo encased in plastic. She wondered how Megan was now.
Rylee went page by page. Some brides she knew; some she did not. Some gowns she could name; some she could not. Everyone, though, had a story of love and gratitude. All the thank-you notes had praised Rosie’s attention to their needs and wants, the shop’s going over and above for them, that personal touch attributable to Rosie. Granted, the whole crew at Rosie’s was mentioned from time to time—even Rylee herself, shock of all shocks—but the main theme was the charisma and acumen of Rosie.
She closed the album and finished her wine. How on earth was she supposed to follow in those footsteps? How the hell was she going to make people still want Rosie’s Bridals as their wedding expert when the expert was dead?
Chapter Twenty-Five
On the last day of shooting, Rylee was a roller coaster of feelings—glad she wouldn’t have to be in Darius’s constant company and yet bummed, too, that it was soon over. A whole week would pass before she’d see him again at the final shoot for the fashion show.
She’d be busy in the coming days. Brides-to-be were booked for the event, and the promo had only just gone out. Most brides were bringing their mothers along. The companionship made sense, but the mother-daughter duos made Rylee think about the few times in her life, particularly during high school, when she’d allowed herself to imagine her own future wedding. Always the scenario had been her and Rosie fawning over a dress. It saddened her that her mother was never in the imagined prospect. Sad for one mother figure who was gone and the other one here yet beyond reach.
Darius and the crew arrived, and her heart did its dance when he looked at her. She was just a nuclear reactor when it came to the guy. Maybe, with any luck at all, the chemical reaction to Darius Wirth would go away when he did.
They filmed the setting up of chairs and a portable runway. Rylee and the girls fit tulle bows around the chairbacks and hot-glued silk tea roses at each knot. In truth, Rylee’s bows had to be redone, and she somehow glued fabric roses to her hair. Although she had hoped that part of the filming could be cut from the final edits, the guys told her no way. They’d said her foibles made for better TV. If that was the case, then maybe she had a future as a TV star.
They completed the work by four in the afternoon. A round of applause sounded among the crew and Rylee’s coworkers while she, nervously picking dried glue from her fingertips, stood at the opposite end of the room and did her best to avoid the shiny black gaze of Darius Wirth.
What would life be like to never see him again after all this? Never again. It sucked. But in one way she wouldn’t change what had happened between them. She wadded up the tissue she’d used to catch the flecks of dried glue she’d scraped from her fingers, and she tossed it in the trash. She felt his gaze even before she lifted her head. He watched her. Meeting his gaze, holding it for a long moment, she knew in that instant she was grateful for one thing. She knew it now, that chemistry between two people, that seductive zoom. Darius Wirth would be a tough act to follow.
Jake, the boss from the show, arrived at the store. He was a nice-looking man as well. Tall and straight, with confidence in his walk and a direct look in his eyes. No-nonsense kind of guy. His smile, though, didn’t reach his eyes. He had no laugh lines by his eyes as Darius did, nor was there ever a flash of amusement in his gaze. Not that it did her one bit of good to compare him or anyone to Darius.
After Jake greeted Darius, the two of them came up to her. Jake reached out to shake her hand, and she was grateful her fingers were now glue free.
“How did it go, Rylee?” His mouth pulled into that pretend smile, kind of an elastic snap.
“Okay, I guess.”
“Excited for the fashion show next week?”
“Nervous too.”
“Ah, don’t be,” Jake said. He slapped a hand to Darius’s shoulder. “This guy will make sure it runs smooth. Right, buddy?”
“Absolutely.” Darius’s mouth slid into an easy smile.
She liked those easy smiles. He had such a good mouth. Lordy.
Before she knew it, everyone was discussing going to Jabberwocky’s downtown for drinks and a bite. Socializing with the Wirth More gang and her workers was the last thing she wanted to do, but Kit wasn’t having excuses.
“You have to come,” she said in a hot whisper. “It’s your store.”
Rylee smiled through gritted teeth. “I need to spend more time with that man like I need a hole in my head.”
Darius and Jake stood nearby, and she could tell by the way Darius’s eyebrows tilted in on themselves that he either heard their exchange or surmised she was dragging her feet on going off to party with everyone.
“Hey, listen. You guys go on ahead to Jabberwocky’s. I need to go check on my father.”
His eyes were on Rylee, and she knew without needing the words that besides wanting to see his dad, he was exiting the scene for her sake, a confirmation that this was serious. Nobody, especially not Jake, could suspect anything had happened between the two of them. Yeah, it would be an embarrassment if the show pulled its funding for all the things they’d provided to Rosie’s Bridals. She knew how to grapple with embarrassment. Hell, she lost a poodle, for God’s sake. But she could not live with herself if Darius lost his job.
“We’ll save you a seat,” Jake said. “My best to your father.”
Darius cast his gaze over to her, and the message in it said goodbye.
****
On his way out the door, Darius felt a hand on his arm. For a millisecond he thought it might be Rylee telling him to stay, to join them at Jabberwocky’s. But that was crazy. The girl was off limits. She knew it. He knew it. It was Jake.
“Hold up,” Jake said in a low tone. His eyes skittered across the workers gathering their things, slipping into their coats, readying to make the trek to the restaurant. “I want to talk with you a second.” His face was stern, his mouth a seam on his face.
What was his problem now? This was what the guy did all the time. A perfectionist, he looked for trouble. With their show’s renewal on the line, Darius couldn’t blame him, though. So he pinned on a smile. “Sure. What’s up?”
“You and the screwball chick.”
“Stop calling her that. What about her?”
“You’re not messing around with her, are you?”
“What?” Darius’s insides turned over on themselves. “Are you crazy?”
Jake grabbed his phone and swiped at the screen. With a determined jerk of his finger, he connected to a social media site and faced the device to Darius. “Can you explain this, then?”
He stared at the random photo of himself and Rylee from when they were at Jabberwocky’s. In the picture they leaned in close to each other, which in all fairness was due to the bar’s di
n. But their coziness looked as if they were really into each other.
“This is nothing, man. She had given me a ride up to see my father, and I offered to buy her a burger. You know how this goes, Jake. Somebody recognized me from the show and posted the picture. End of story.”
“No. Not the end of the story. Read the comments.”
“No, thanks.”
“Okay, well, let’s just say people are wondering about you and this woman.”
Darius pulled a face. “Just let it go. It’ll go away.”
“I’ve just got this vibe, man. There’s a high price for jeopardizing our show. I know you know that. And it’s not me so much I worry about if we’re all out of work.” He swept his hand wide. “It’s these guys.”
Yeah, right.
“I’m aware.” Darius swallowed hard. Technically, he wasn’t lying. His and Rylee’s moment had been before the papers were signed. Everything about this, though, felt like crap. Because in truth their time together was more than that one night in his apartment. A connectedness existed, some tie to her. She was all he thought about. Even trying not to think about her was futile. And he loved her quirkiness. He forced himself not to look across the room to where she was. Especially not with Jake staring him down.
“Just making sure,” Jake said. “Parker Paper gets any inclination that you’re too cozy with her and they’re out. I’ve gone over most of the promo pictures the guys took, and I swear there are some shots with you and her that look like—”
“For God’s sake, Jake. Stop.” Darius’s heart stalled in his chest.
But he proceeded. “Like you two are banging. That’s what it looked like. And if I think it, then maybe the fans watching the promo spots might think it too. And then the sponsor gets antsy. Get me?”
“You’re talking nonsense, Jake. But, yes, I get you.”
“You need something to focus on? Start thinking about the new season. And let somebody else handle any wacko women that cross your path.”
“Stop.”
“Stop what?
There was no sense in arguing. Rylee wasn’t any wacko or screwball. Yeah, she was unique in her demeanor, a little self-deprecating, and she had a quirkiness that he’d come to think was endearing. But no way was he going to tell Jake any of that.
Saying Yes to the Mess Page 14